Healing Generations of trauma
A book that changed my course in healing was "It Didn't Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle." by Mark Wolynn
The profound insight I gained was multifaceted and the core of this was that it takes three generations to heal generational trauma.
This made sense to me, because I could see how I parented from the spaces that my caregivers neglected and, could see how my Mom was influenced in her parenting by her parents- the cycle did not start with me.
To begin healing, I had to zoom out—to see the bigger picture of how I was raised and understand that the beliefs my caregivers raised me with weren’t entirely their own.
They were inherited.
For much of my life, I believed that the ways I was raised were a reflection of who my caregivers were. When they were harsh, I thought it meant they were uncaring. When they avoided my emotions, I thought it meant they didn’t love me or that my emotions didn't matter. And when they taught me to push through pain instead of feel it, I thought it was because they didn’t see me and didn't care that I was struggling
Over time, as I began my healing journey, I came to understand that the beliefs my caregivers raised me with weren’t born in them—they were passed down. My caregivers were raised by their caregivers, who were raised by theirs, each generation shaped by the wounds and survival strategies of the one before.
Survival: The Root of It All
My grandparents, like so many others, grew up in a world defined by survival. For them, life wasn’t about emotional connection or self-awareness—it was about making it through the day. Their caregivers had taught them to keep their heads down, to focus on food and shelter, to protect what little they had.
Vulnerability was dangerous. Emotions were a luxury.
And so, my grandparents raised my Mom with those same survival instincts, though the world had changed by then.
They didn’t say, “I love you,” because love wasn’t spoken—it was shown through hard work and discipline. They didn’t ask, “How do you feel?” because they’d never been asked that themselves.
And slowing down to even contemplate this for my Great grandparent's and grandparents, also meant risk of "dying"
To them, these things weren’t neglect. They were the only way they knew to love.
The Patterns Passed Down
When I think about how I was raised, I can see those same survival patterns playing out, though they wore a different mask. My caregivers weren’t living in survival mode the way their caregivers had, but they’d been taught to value resilience above all else.
When I cried as a child, I was not held, but that I was a big girl and didn't need to cry. Not because they didn’t care, but because they’d been taught that tears don’t solve problems.
When I needed comfort, I was given different things to "do" Not because they didn’t want to hold me, but because they’d been taught that love means fixing, not feeling.
I was only praised for "doing good" and being on good behavior. The struggles and the emotional uproars were yelled at and neglected, because it was not known how to handle the emotional aspect of life, Success looked like being disciplined and achieving, not fighting back.
At the time, I couldn’t see this bigger picture. All I felt was the void—the love I craved but didn’t feel, the connection I sought but didn’t know how to create.
Seeing the Inheritance
It wasn’t until I began my own healing work that I could step back and see the patterns for what they were: inherited beliefs.
The rigidity, the emotional distance, the unspoken expectations—they weren’t born in my caregivers. They were handed to them, just as they were handed to my grandparents, and my great-grandparents before them.
I began to see my caregivers not as the origin of my wounds, but as carriers of something much older, something they had no 'map' to navigate. I began to understand that their way of raising me wasn’t about me—it was about survival. And in that understanding, I found compassion.
Breaking the Cycle
This is where my generation comes in. We are the bridge between survival and awakening.
We are the ones who are learning to feel the grief our grandparents couldn’t express, to sit with the emotions our caregivers couldn’t hold, and to question the beliefs we were taught to accept as truth.
It’s not easy work. There were days I wanted to blame them—to cling to the narrative that I wasn’t loved in the ways I needed to be. The deeper I went, the more I realized: their love was always there. It just didn’t look like the love I was longing for.
Healing, for me, began with seeing the bigger picture. It began with realizing that my caregivers, like their caregivers before them, were doing the best they could with what they were given.
And it continues with choosing to do differently—not because I reject the past, but because I honor it.
Three Generations to Heal
Mark Wolynn says it takes three generations to heal. My grandparents taught survival. My caregivers taught resilience. And now, I’m teaching connection. I’m teaching my children that it’s okay to feel, that love doesn’t need to be earned, that vulnerability isn’t a weakness but a gateway to intimacy and that slowing down is invaluable for our health and success is not defined by society, but by what you are doing to bring (internal) wealth into your life
I’m unlearning the patterns of suppression and rigidity, and in doing so, I’m creating space for them to grow without the weight of inherited beliefs. I’m showing my kiddos—and myself—that it’s safe to be a messy human.
This is the work of healing. Not erasing what came before, but weaving it into something new.
Seeing the inheritance for what it is and choosing, with compassion, to break the cycle.
It begins within us, and it doesn’t end there. It ripples forward, through the generations to come, creating a legacy not of survival, but of love and connection
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